


Think All My Thoughts With You

by midnightwriter



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Soft Aziraphale, Spoilers for s01e06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightwriter/pseuds/midnightwriter
Summary: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 06!"He eyed the dark walls, the art and the lack of much else. It was spacious but felt empty. Aziraphale supposed that it reflected the image Crowley tried to make of himself. It was nowhere near the truth, obviously, considering that said demon had just helped him save the world."Aziraphale, in Crowley's body, walks around Crowley's flat thinking about the demon and their relationship.





	Think All My Thoughts With You

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language and I don't have a beta, so I appreciate if you point mistakes and typos.

As Aziraphale walked in Crowley's flat wearing the demon's face, he realized that he had never been there before. He had met some of Crowley's old apartments and houses through time, but not this one. Perhaps for lack of invitation or perhaps because he didn't want to intrude in the demon's personal space. Aziraphale knew the importance of a place for one's self, where you could be your truest self, enclosed by things you loved; the bookshop was that place to him.

  
Aziraphale didn't want to pry, oh no, that would be wrong. However, he was Crowley right now. It would seem odd if he didn't feel at home in his own home... Or something like that. He would use that as the excuse he needed to look around (not prying!).

  
He eyed the dark walls, the art and the lack of much else. It was spacious but felt empty. Aziraphale supposed that it reflected the image Crowley tried to make of himself. It was nowhere near the truth, obviously, considering that said demon had just helped him save the world.

  
In the living room, there was an enormous television screen, and it made sense: Crowley loved watching the news in the morning, admiring how much disgrace the human beings had done to themselves in the past twenty-four hours without him ever having to lift a finger. It always brightened his mood.

  
In one corner, there was a statue of two angels wrestling. It had been a gift from Aziraphale in 1728, and he smiled, happy to know that the demon kept it until this day. They had been fighting over the Arrangement at the time, Aziraphale can't even remember why exactly.

  
He saw the statue and thought that it represented them: one side fighting the other eternally. It brought tears to his angelic eyes and the sudden need to apologize to the demon, the only one who understood him. Despite Crowley's demonic nature, deep down they were both angels, they were only doing what they were told (or not doing, depending on whose time it was to influence humankind). Crowley was the only one who truly knew him and hadn't cast him away.

  
Walking further in, Aziraphale couldn't contain another smile at the plants, the greener and healthier he ever laid his eyes on since the Garden of Eden. A tiny bit of Crowley's good heart showing, hidden by layers of dark walls — a perfect metaphor for Crowley.

  
He approached the plants, entrailed by their beauty. The poor things were shaking as if suffering from a fever, which was silly considering that plants couldn't have fevers.

  
"Hello," he greeted, still smiling.

  
They seemed confused by the gesture, and Aziraphale could also sense their fear.

  
"I will not hurt you. No one would hurt—"

  
He stopped midsentence. Well, he could think of one person, or more accurately, one demon who would terrorise innocent plants. It fit the metaphor even better if he was being honest. Crowley not only imprisoned his good part deep inside the walls but also did his best (or would it be his worst?) to stop it from rising to the surface.

  
Aziraphale, in Crowley's body, gently touched one of the green leaves. He murmured soothing words to calm them down, watching with fascination as they, very slowly, gave in to his touch and relaxed.

  
When they appeared greener and prettier, he left them to the bedroom to get ready for bed. Love was the best way to tend to all living things, and even some things that weren't alive, such as books.

  
Aziraphale had a moment of awkwardness at the thought of undressing himself in Crowley's body. Humanity had been rubbing off on him, he supposed. Nudity didn't hold that much value between celestial beings — not that he would find himself naked in the demon's body. He was merely going to undress until his short and underside shirt. All black, obviously. Crowley liked black. The colour rather suited him, Aziraphale thought as he admired himself (Crowley's body, really) in the large mirror on the bedroom wall.

  
The bed was huge and black satin sheets covered it. No surprise there. Only two pillows on top of it. After all, Crowley had been the one to create the idea that having many pillows on your bed was nice. The trouble everyone had to put them all in and out of bed every night was subtle but devilish, as Crowley's ideas usually were.

  
Aziraphale lay in bed, breathing in Crowley's scent. He felt himself calming down. Today had been a long and difficult day. He lost and recovered his body, he travelled to Tadfield in a motorcycle, he rebelled against Heaven, he helped the antichrist to defeat Satan, he helped stop the Armageddon, he even took the bus. It had been quite a day!

  
Not surprisingly, through this whole crazy day, as well as in the past six thousand years, Crowley had been at his side. No one else had stayed by his side before. Heaven had ignored him completely, except for his memos. All his brothers and sisters up there forgot him down here.

  
He didn't lament that. Not after today or after all the wonders he discovered about humankind during these centuries. It made him think about his alliance to Crowley, how wrong it had felt during all these years, yet how right it felt today.

  
He never thought of himself as rebellious before, but here he was: in a demon's body, in a demon's flat, thinking that the only thing that would make this day better would be if he said demon was lying down next to him. Both finally tired of wrestling each other.

  
He didn't sleep (angels didn't need it) but he stood there, thinking about Heaven and Hell. Angel and demon. Enemies and friends. Six thousand years and today. He thought that if their plan worked and they survived this, he would like to finally take Crowley to the Ritz, so they could eat good food, drink good wine and be there for each other as it had been since the beginning of time.

  
Maybe he would even be rebellious enough to have the courage to hold his hand, touch his cheeks, kiss his lips and understand why humans drove themselves mad over love. He really hoped everything worked out in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I won't even apologize for this one. Blame it on J and A. Also, because of this comment by Neil Gaiman (https://twitter.com/Bonibaru/status/1134945912046927881)
> 
> Title from the song "In The Lap Of The Gods" by Queen.


End file.
